


This isn't what I wanted

by Heza



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon Typical Swearing, M/M, Spoilers for RVB15!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 13:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10922403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heza/pseuds/Heza
Summary: Simmons is going to have to come with terms that he and Grif wanted very different things.





	This isn't what I wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr, based on "I don't WANT our friendship!" prompt sent to me by Ari. =D Enjoy!

 

“I don’t like you. Any of you. But we’ve known each other for so long you deserve to hear it from me first. I’m done.”

 

Simmons watched Grif’s retreating form as Sarge muttered, “seriously, Grif, turn around,” swallowing around the hard lump forming in his throat. He saw Tucker throw his hands up in the air in frustration, cursing under his breath, and stomp off towards the news reporters ship, Caboose following closely behind. Wash and Carolina left without a word, leaving Red Team, what was _left_ of Red Team, standing awkwardly for a few moments. 

Simmons did not move when Lopez turned away with a robotic sigh, his metal feet falling heavy on the ground. Simmons did not move when Donut followed, his shoulder sagging and head hanging low like some sort of kicked dog. Simmons didn’t even move when Sarge turned sharply on his heel, kicking up dirt. He did not stop watching the orange armour, glinting in the light of the same coloured setting sun. 

Sarge stopped beside him, still looking straight ahead towards the ship, his hands keeping a tight grip on his shotgun. “Come on Simmons,” he grunted, “let’s get a move on.”

Simmons opened and closed his mouth several times as he fought down the lump in his throat, trying to speak with some sort of dignity. “But Sir,” he managed finally, his voice clipped as he forced it past his lips, “we have to stop him. We can’t just _leave_ him here-“

“Grif’s made his choice.” Despite all his grievances and complaints about Grif, Sarge’s voice was flat. “He’ll be here when we get back. We left you behind once, and you turned out fine.”

“That was different-“ Simmons cut off as Sarge put a hand on his shoulder, his helmeted head barely turning to look. 

“Son,” he said gently, “we should go.”

Not even an hour ago, Simmons would have swelled and flustered at the mere thought of Sarge referring to him in any sort of “father-son” manner. Now the grip on his shoulder and the tone in Sarge’s voice just caused his stomach to sink. He nodded slowly, looking back in time to see Grif settled under one of the umbrellas left over from when the bases burned. He thought about opening a private channel with Grif, but what would he even say? Goodbye, see you later? Come on Grif, just come along? Grif, we should talk about…?

After a small tug from Sarge on his shoulder, Simmons turned away finally, following Sarge into the ship.

 

“Well it’s about fucking time,” Tucker snapped as the two of them walked into the main hold of the ship. “Almost thought you two were just going to stay here with Fat-ass.”

“Watch it, Blue,” Sarge growled, gesturing with his shotgun. “He might be a lazy, good for nothing deserter, but he’s still a Red, and I won’t have you slandering him!”

Tucker snorted, folding his arms over his chest and looking away. “Whatever.”

Simmons settled away from the others, putting himself in a seat far to the back of the ship. For a second, it looked as though Donut was going to seat himself next to him, but after hestitating the pink soldier sat between Sarge and Lopez. Simmons breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure he could handle any of Donut’s optimism and advice at the moment.

As the ship broke atmo', Simmons thought back to after the events of the Tower, when he and Grif had stumbled out of the closet, sweaty and half clothed. Grif had grumbled about never speaking of it again, least it made things weird between them. At the time, Simmons had awkwardly agreed, even though part of him had wanted to grab Grif by the shoulders, shake him and yell _I don’t want our friendship, I want_ this _, I want_ you _!_

 

Well, it looked like Grif didn’t want their friendship either.

 

He didn’t want Simmons at all.


End file.
